Red
by sdbubbles
Summary: New Tricks. Taylor Swift. Collection of fics set to Taylor Swift songs.
1. Begin Again

__**A/N: This is just a little collection of Taylor Swift songfics, as I've fallen in love with her songs all over again. **

**This one is set months after the debacle concerning James Larson in series 8, so this is set sometime during series 9.**

**The song is "Begin Again" from Taylor Swift's new album "Red," which is a pretty awesome one. And the other very good song mentioned later is "All I Need" by Mat Kearney.**

**Sarah x**

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_Took a deep breath in the mirror  
He didn't like it when I wore high heels, but I do  
Turned the lock and put my headphones on  
He always said he didn't get this song but I do, I do_

Getting ready for work, she slipped her heels on. The plain black shoes she liked to wear for work. The ones she hadn't worn in months. Ever since James...ugh. She hated even thinking of him. He didn't like her wearing them; they made her taller than him. She thought that was why, at least.

She looked in her tall mirror at herself. She hadn't dressed this way in months. She'd stuck to boots and jeans. Usually black. Today she wore a bright blue-green shirt and plain dark blue skinny jeans. She'd reserved herself for a long time. But that had to end. She had to live her life in the way she wanted, and not James Larson, who eventually got lifted by her anyway. Why, why did she pick the horrible ones?

She picked up her bag and left her house, locking the door behind her. She put her earphones in, and played her favourite song. A song she'd loved for years. "Wasted" by Carrie Underwood. _He_ had said to her that he didn't understand why a girl would write a song about not drinking. But Sandra didn't see it as just a song about staying away from drink. She held it dear as a song of how not to spend her life. Of how she had to cherish every moment and not waste away on her own.

She set of to meet Gerry for breakfast before work. He knew what James had been like before she did. Jack had told her that Gerry had been worried about her. That he thought she'd lost her mind to go there again. And he'd been right, hadn't he?

_Walked in expecting you'd be late_  
_But you got here early_  
_And you stand and wait_  
_And I walk to you_  
_You pulled my chair out and helped me_  
_And you don't know how nice that is_  
_But I do_

She didn't expect to see him sitting with a coffee and bacon roll ready for her when she arrived. She'd assumed he'd be late and not keep to his promise of meeting her at eight o'clock. She expected him to wander in absent-mindedly at half-past after leaving her looking like an idiot. But there he sat, with a patient smile.

He got up and pulled her chair out for her so she could sit down. He didn't realise the significance of that. Her last man had been almost ignorant. If it hadn't been for his trap of a false charm, she wouldn't have gone near him with a barge pole. But that one gentlemanly action meant the world to her. That he had that thought in his head that she was actually a woman, that she actually liked the little things...that meant so much more than she could tell him.

He even remembered she liked brown sauce on her bacon roll. Exactly how much milk she took in her coffee. That she didn't like muffins but she did like chocolate chip cookies. "How are you this morning?" he asked her. A perfectly innocent question. And yet he didn't realise the totally different feel he'd just put on her day. How she'd worn heels and bright clothes for him. Because she definitely hadn't been very bright in these few months.

She felt something comfortingly genuine in him.

"I'm fine," she smiled. "How are you? Apart from a cheeky old sod," she smirked into her coffee mug.

_And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid_  
_I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did_  
_I've been spending the last 8 months thinking all love ever does_  
_Is break and burn and end_  
_But on a Wednesday in a café I watched it begin again_

Gerry just laughed at her comment, and she found herself wondering what was so hilarious. Than she realised he was chuckling at her attempt at humour. How odd. If she'd said that to James, he wouldn't have laughed. He may have even glared at her. But he definitely wouldn't have found it amusing.

She'd been wary of falling in love since then. She thought it was dangerous. Reckless. Not a wise plan. But she could see she was mistaken. James was a bad experience. Two bad experiences, actually. But Gerry wasn't James. Gerry made her smile daily, even if he never got to see it. Gerry actually cared about her enough to worry.

"Yeah, I'm good," he replied. "Had a good night with Caitlin and Amelia. Went to see a movie," he smiled. "What did you get up to last night?"

And it was then, when he showed an interest in her, that she felt it. The trust surfacing, that tight bond showing itself again. This was different. This was real.

"Wine. Music. The usual," she shrugged, as if her lack of a life was nothing. But Gerry didn't criticise her. Because he knew she didn't need it; they both knew how miserable her life had become recently. She hardly ever even accompanied her boys to the pub anymore. She'd made no effort to get to know Steve when he'd arrived. Not made any proper emotional display about Jack after he left. Nothing.

_You said you never met one girl_  
_Who has as many James Taylor records as you_  
_But I do_  
_We tell stories and you don't know why I'm coming off a little shy_  
_But I do_

"You're the only person I know who owns as many CDs and records as I do," he grinned. "You must have hundreds in that house of yours. And that was, what, four years ago? It must've at least doubled by now," he smirked. It reminded her how little people visited her. How solitary her life had become over the years.

"Very funny," she made a face at him, and he almost choked on his coffee. She ate in silence for a few minutes, and found she was perfectly comfortable. They didn't even need to talk, really.

"I remember when Jayne chucked me out, she threw the records like frisbees at me," he revealed, and Sandra actually laughed at the thought. "They ain't as innocent as they appear."

And she knew he wasn't just talking about the records. He was talking about people. About Jayne. About James. And she ignored that comment, because there was nothing she could say, really. "I grew up with music. I can't imagine life without it," she admitted quietly. She wasn't confident about opening herself up anymore. It always ended in tears.

"Who do you listen to?" he asked interestedly.

_But you throw your head back laughing like a little kid_  
_I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did_  
_I've been spending the last 8 months thinking all love ever does_  
_Is break and burn and end_  
_But on a Wednesday in a café I watched it begin again_

"Carrie Underwood, Jessie J, Taylor Swift, Mat Kearney..." she trailed off, and he chuckled at her choice in music. He had a point, of course. His daughters were more likely to listen to them than she was. But it didn't change anything.

"Who was that last one?" he demanded, so she unwrapped her earphones from around her iPod and played a Mat Kearney song as they listened to the man's soft voice..._I'm holdin' on to you holdin' on to me, maybe it's all we've got but it's all I need...you're all I need..._

"Calming, isn't it?" she said.

"What's it about?" he asked her curiously. Another thing that took her by surprise. Actually wanting a conversation about something she liked. She was accustomed to having her views and ideas pushed to one side, left thinking they were worthless.

"Hurricane Katrina," she answered. "It's about a man and his partner trying to survive the storm. It's about how, even if they lose everything else, all they'll ever really need is each other. It's sort of comforting to me, actually."

"That's a lovely concept," he agreed. "I'd like to think that no matter what, we'd have each other," he said. What did that mean? That he really felt something for her? Like she did for him? Something that wasn't toxic? That she could sustain?

She finished her cookie and coffee and looked at her watch. They had to get going if they intended to be in for nine. He read her mind almost and stood up.

_And we walk down the block to my car_  
_And I almost brought him up_  
_But you start to talk about the movies_  
_That your family watches every single Christmas_  
_And I won't talk about that_  
_For the first time, what's past is past_

He took her hand and helped her to her feet. He held her coat as she got into it. And they walked out into the chilly air. She felt like she had to say something about how great he'd been. About how much better than James he was. How he was the first man she'd even looked the road of since that mess James had left her in.

He seemed to sense it coming, and he seemed to clock the fact she hated talking about what James had put her through, lying to her the way he did. Letting her find out from the police and having to investigate him herself. "Only eight weeks until Christmas," he reminded her out of the blue. "Of course, that means I have to sit through _Shrek_ and _Harry Potter _and _Pirates of the Caribbean_ with Gerry Jr. again," he joked.

"They're not _that_ bad," Sandra laughed. And he'd done it. He'd managed to make her let it go. To make her come out of her shell again. "I actually happen to like _Shrek_. He reminds me of you," she laughed.

"Oi!" he shouted in mock insult. "What do you mean I remind you of Shrek?!"

"I meant that you pretend to be hard but actually you're incredibly soft-hearted," she said bluntly. There. That shut him up, didn't it? And now, for the first time in a long time, the past was just that: the past. Gone. Never to happen again. Because Gerry wouldn't do that to her. Because Gerry was a good man.

He opened her car door for her once she unlocked it, but she didn't get in.

_'Cause you throw your head back laughing like a little kid_  
_I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did_  
_I've been spending the last 8 months thinking all love ever does_  
_Is break and burn and end_  
_Then on a Wednesday in a café I watched it begin again_  
_Then on a Wednesday in a café I watched it begin again_

In her heels, she was taller than him. She was quite tall without them anyway, but definitely taller than Gerry with them on. And he didn't seem to mind. He looked into her eyes, and she said, "You're not such a grumpy old man."

He looked at for a moment, and then started to laugh at her. "I should hope not!" he retorted. She went to get in her car but he caught her wrist. She spun to face him, and his eyes were soft. Mellow. "I won't hurt you, Sandra," he reminded her. "Always remember that."

She kissed his cheek gently. It was a start. She wasn't able to let herself go completely, but she could see right now that this was different. This was something real; it had grown from tension to reluctant tolerance to friendship to whatever this was. Funny to think that nine years ago, she couldn't stand the sight of him. That she'd warned Jack to reign him in before he ended up on the floor with a broken nose.

Who knew? Maybe they would even end up together for Christmas, watching those movies together. She certainly hoped so.

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please leave a review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


	2. I Almost Do

__**A/N: This is the second songifc, set to "I Almost Do" from "Red." To be honest, I'm not that sure I did very well with it, but hey-ho.**

**And thanks to everyone who have read and reviewed!**

**Sarah x**

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_I bet this time of night you're still up  
I bet you're tired from a long hard week  
I bet you're sitting in your chair by the window  
Looking out at the city  
And I bet sometimes you wonder about me_

I'm lying awake in bed, wondering what she's up to. It's almost midnight, but my guess would be that she's still awake, living off of either caffeine or wine, probably pouring over a case file from years and years ago. It's Friday, so she'll be worn out – I know her well enough to know that she is always tried by the time Friday night arrives, no matter how much she's always denied it.

She'll be wondering what actually happened in this case she's working on. She'll be wondering why she does what she does. She'll be wondering why she chose to open a new box of horrors every time she opens a file. The job takes it's toll; I know that. Some more than others, but I know very well how the strain of being a detective affects them.

Maybe she's just staring out the window by now, too tired to properly concentrate. Maybe she's looking out over the river, watching the lights. Listening to the traffic, perhaps. Probably with her music on.

Maybe she's wondering what I'm doing right now. Maybe she's wondering if I've fallen asleep yet. Part of me wishes she'd call and just talk with me for a while. But instead she distances herself from me. She gets on with it, never once complaining about the life she leads. The life _we_ lead. But I know she thinks about me. When I see her, it's obvious.

_And I just want to tell you_  
_It takes everything in me not to call you_  
_And I wish I could run to you_  
_And I hope you know every time I don't_  
_I almost do_  
_I almost do_

I want to tell her how many times I've dialled her number but not pressed the call button. How hard that is to resist the temptation to disturb her. She doesn't seem to understand that she is everything I have. And I don't even have her. How can she actually expect me to abandoned her? Because that's effectively what she's asking me to do. She pushes me out to the point that I actually have to think about the way her mind works.

I wish she could feel like she could come to me with anything, but she's more likely to do her very best to hide everything from me. I don't know much about her life anymore. In the past couple of years in particular, she's closed herself up to me, never telling much of anything worth listening to.

I wish I could talk to her about anything. Like normal people do. But we're not normal; we haven't been normal in many years. Well, actually, we've never really been able to call ourselves 'normal.' But it doesn't change the fact that we hardly ever talk. That we hardly discuss anything. That she never even calls me. That _I _don't even call _her_.

I just hope she realises how close I come to phoning her most nights. I hope she understands that I miss her. The old version of her. She wasn't always as closed as this. Before the world changed her. Before she forgot what it is to live.

And every time I stop myself, I end up regretting it and being extremely thankful at the same time.

_I bet you think I either moved on or hate you_  
_'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply_  
_I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can't say hello to you_  
_And risk another goodbye_

Maybe thinks I've forgotten her. That I've decided to live my life and leave her to it. Or maybe she's even gone as far to believe I've grown to hate her. In fact, I've found its the opposite. I love her more and more the less proper contact we have. I could never hate her. She's always been difficult, and we've always been guilty for saying things that perhaps should never have been said, but I do _not_ hate her. I'm starting to worry now; what if _she_ hates me? What then?

The few times she has held her hand out for me to take, I've kept my distance. I've let her get on with it. Because I just know how it's bound to end: in tears. Or more likely a fit of rage, in her case. I'm guessing she hasn't wrapped her head around that one yet. Even after all these years, she still hasn't figured out that I'm protecting her from another fall out. From an argument that splits them straight down the middle.

She's probably never thought of the idea that maybe, just maybe, I'm doing it for her. She makes me out to be awful half the time. She's told me before what she thinks of me. Well, what she claims to think of me. In a way, we're nothing more than a pair of liars. And, for her, I'll keep lying.

Because I can't do that to her. We're too alike. We're both too quick-tempered. We both always want answers that just aren't there. And it causes arguments. It causes fear, which leads to dispute, which leads to a falling out, which leads to, quite simply, goodbye.

_And I just want to tell you_  
_It takes everything in me not to call you_  
_And I wish I could run to you_  
_And I hope you know that every time I don't_  
_I almost do_  
_I almost do_

I turn my back to the phone on my bedside unit. It keeps temptation out of my path. It's so excruciatingly painful to remind myself I can't call her. That I can't do it to her. Unfortunately, she doesn't trust me not to mess it up. She doesn't trust me to be civil anymore. I'm sure she knows I love her, but love and trust can be a world apart when you lie to each other constantly.

I want to stop the lies. I want to be able to build a relationship with her. A real one. None of this pretending to each other that we don't give a damn. If I told her the truth – that there is nothing on this Earth that means more to me than her – I don't think she'd feel very comfortable anymore. She's far more at ease keeping me at arm's length. She's strange like that. The more a person shows they care, the harder she resists.

I begin to drift into an uneasy sleep, and I realise I want her to know that even though I don't, I want to.

_Oh we made quite a mess babe_  
_It's probably better off this way_  
_And I confess babe_  
_In my dreams you're touching my face_  
_And asking me if I want to try again with you_  
_And I almost do_

My dreams are plagued by the image of her tear-stained face, her shining eyes. Telling me I'm horrible. That I judge too much. And I retaliate with the bored sarcasm that I always use to evade her. I hear that drawl in my voice that tells us both that our game is pointless.

And I realise this is the only way it can be. The only way we know how to exist. All I want if for her to be happy, and she is happier now than she's been in a long time. My issue is that her guardedness is what makes her happy. I can't do anything to help her anymore; she's too used to pushing me out. It would do no good to break the cycle at this stage.

But that doesn't stop me wishing. Even as I sleep, I wish she'd come and see me. I can almost see her touching me cheek lightly, holding my hand. I can just about hear her ask me to give it one last shot. She wants me to stay with her, and see if we can get along this time. She really wants it, and she doing one thing out of the ordinary that betrays it as a dream: she's being honest.

I almost agree, but the words don't leave my mouth. Instead I'm wide awake again.

_And I just want to tell you_  
_It takes everything in me not to call you_  
_And I wish I could run to you_  
_And I hope you know that every time I don't_  
_I almost do_  
_I almost do_

I reach over and pick up the cordless phone, slowly punching in her home phone number. My thumb hovers over the green call button, and I desperately want to press it. But I can't. I throw the phone away from me, only far enough that it lands at the very end of the bed, just out of my reach. It's just far enough away that I can't hurt her.

I feel tears sting my eyes and they soon spill over, running hot down my cheeks. She doesn't understand how hard it is for me to leave her alone. I want to be a part of her life. I want to be a proper part of her life. I want to laugh with her when she's happy and cry with her when disaster strikes. But she won't let me. And it takes everything I've got to give her that independence.

She isn't cold. Quite the opposite, in fact; she's more than capable of being soft when she feels like she's safe. She obviously thinks I'm going to cross the line, and that I will say something I ought not to. I' just as bad as her. I push her away. I have my reasons, but I'm not sure she realises that it's to protect her from anymore arguments and heartbreak.

And I hope to God that she understands that I don't stay in silence because I want to. I stay in silence, away from her, because I have to, for her sake as much as my own. I want her to know how many times I've picked up the phone and not rang. I want her to hear how I often think about going to see her, completely out of the blue. I want to tell her that I have to stop myself.

_I bet this time of night you're still up  
I bet you're tired from a long hard week  
I bet you're sitting in your chair by the window looking out at the city  
And I hope sometimes you wonder about me_

So I hope that, as she sits awake as I know she is, she'll be reminded somehow that I'm thinking about her. I hope that she remembers how much I love her. I hope she understands how much I hate this impossible situation of this unsustainable relationship we've always had.

And I hope she thinks about her mother as much as I think about my daughter.

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**Hope this is OK!  
Please leave a review and tell me what you think of it!  
Sarah x**


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